Mysteries of the Castle of Dreams
by ScipioSmith
Summary: Cinderella is the maiden who will be the prince's bride, and her future happiness seems assured. But what truly lies between the prince's charming smile? Why mysteries await her in the vast and ancient castle? And who is the mysterious phantom who lurks within the walls and what does he want with Cinderella? Can she ever find true happiness in this place? Based on the 1950 movie.
1. Chapter 1

First Day

Cinderella waited in a parlour room, where sunlight streamed in through the windows and paintings of ladies gone and past stared down at her from their gilded frames upon the walls, and waited for her prince to arrive.

Her prince. It still seemed incredible, as incredible as when she had first heard her Stepmother speak those words and been so overcome that she had dropped everything she was carrying and lost her wits in a romantic fantasy. Her prince. Even now, standing in the palace itself, having been brought by his grace into this gleaming castle, Cinderella could not quite believe that the man who had stolen her heart at last night's ball was, in fact, the prince.

Though, truth to tell, before last night she probably would have found the idea of anyone stealing her heart to be as incredible as flying. Until it happened she hardly would have believed that it could. It was just a dream, a dream much hoped-for, but with seemingly little chance of ever coming true. But come true it had. Her heart was stolen, and in the possession of the prince in whose palace she stood, and for whom she waited.

 _He stole my heart at the ball,_ Cinderella thought. _But I stole his in turn, so that makes us even._

That had been even more incredible to hear, not only was the man that she had danced with and whiled away the hours till midnight with the prince of their little realm, but he declared himself madly in love with her; in love - with her! In love with Cinderella, could she ever have imagined such a thing. So in love that he had sent His Grace to seek her out and fetch her back to be his bride.

His bride, if he would have her. She held the glass slipper in her hand, her thumb rubbed gently against the glass heart that sat upon the toe of that beautiful, delicate shoe; it prove that she was the maid that he was seeking, beyond doubt, but...would he not look at her now, all dressed in rags, and perhaps wish that he had not found her.

 _Love is not love that can be swayed by such things,_ Cinderella thought, but then...what did she really know of love?

 _I know that I love him. With all my heart, I love him._ Would he love her in the same fashion? Cinderella could only do as she had always done, and have hope. She trusted that that same hope, which had carried her through so many dark times, would prove enough.

She noticed the brass handle of the door move, heard it rattle just a little, a fraction before the door burst open and there he stood, the man who had taken her hand at the ball, the man whose looks enthralled her, whose charm captivated her, the man who in a few short hours had shown her more love than her family had in ten years.

Her love. Her prince.

He was immaculately dressed, having exchanged his white uniform of last night for a smart, dapper suit that, Cinderella could see with the eye of one who knew a little about sewing and the like, was tailored bespoke to his figure. His jacket was blue and his waistcoat scarlet, so that it looked almost like a robin's chest, and a green velvet kerchief was wrapped tight around his throat. His trousers white, and his boots were black and polished to a shine.

He put Cinderella, in her dun brown skirt and her black bodice with its green sleeves, quite to shame.

She gripped the glass slipper firmly, and fought to place her love about her nerves as she smiled at him.

"It's you," he murmured, and with those words and the devoted tone with which he spoke them he caused all Cinderella's nervousness to melt away like morning due. Like flowers blooming in the light of the sun her smile widened and brightened as he strode across the room, his polished boots squeaking on the floorboards, to place his hands upon her arms.

"It's you," he repeated.

"And it's you, too," Cinderella replied, with just a touch of amusement in her voice. She remembered that he did not know her name nor she his, and so she curtsied before him in spite of their proximity and his hands upon her arms. "Your Highness, I am Cinderella Tremaine, and I am delighted to meet you."

The smile upon the prince's face made Cinderella's heart flutter. Without a word, he plucked the glass slipper from her hands and stared at it for a moment, before he set it down upon a nearby table next to a vase of violets. "Mademoiselle," he kissed her hand, just as he had done last night, and just like last night it made Cinderella blush, she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. "I am Prince Charles Francis du Valois, and I am charmed to meet you, Cinderella. Come, will you sit down."

"Of course," Cinderella said softly, the smile remaining fixed in place upon her face and in her eyes as she allowed Charles to guide her to a green velvet settee where he sat down beside her.

He took her hands, sandwiching them between his palms, as he stared into eyes and held her gaze as though he were a cockatrice.

"You look different, than how you looked last night," he said, his voice as soft as a lullaby. "I'm sorry if that sounds blunt but...it is the truth."

"I know," Cinderella said, and her own voice did not rise above a whisper. She glanced downwards, to where his hands lay in her lap, enfolding her hands and wrists in his embrace. "I...I'm afraid that I'm not the girl you thought I was."

Charles' voice was rich with amusement in reply. "Really? Is it so? Well then, clairvoyant Cinderella, perhaps you can tell me who I thought you were."

"A lady," Cinderella replied. "A beautiful princess in a beautiful gown."

"You are still beautiful."

Cinderella glanced upwards. His eyes remained fixed upon her, those big, beautiful brown eyes like pools of chocolate. "Thank you," she whispered. "But I am no lady."

"Indeed," Charles murmured. "What are you then?"

"Only a maid," Cinderella said. "A servant," she clarified, as distinct from a maiden - which she was also, but the fact was of less relevance - lest he misunderstood. "A scullion girl, more used to brooms than ball gowns."

Charles' head titled ever so slightly to the right. "A servant," he said, and Cinderella took it as a good thing that his voice did not rise in outrage but maintained its quiet and even tone. "And yet...your name is Tremaine; are you not related to Lady Tremaine and her daughters."

"My stepmother and stepsisters," Cinderella said. "It is...I am their servant."

"Were."

"Excuse me?"

"You were their servant," Charles said. "You are their servant no longer." He took his hand from off of hers for just a moment to tuck some stray strawberry hair behind her ear. "You are no one's servant, not anymore." He brushed his fingers gently against her cheek. "How could your own family make a servant of you? And how did a servant come by the most beautiful ball gown in the entire kingdom, yet now sits before me in a scullion's rags?"

Cinderella bowed her head and looked away from him as she felt an icy hand grip her stomach. "I...Well, um, I..." [i]How can I possibly tell him the truth? About mice and magic and everything else? He'll think I'm mad, or making up stories.[/i] "I...Charles, I'm going to have to ask you to trust me. Trust me...that I have answer, but trust me not to need it yet...not until I'm ready."

She felt his hand upon her chin, gentle but at the same time inexorable, lifting her head up and steering it to focus on his gaze. "You ask me to trust you, but you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth?"

Put like that, it suddenly sounded very unfair of her to ask for that which she would not or could not give him in return. "I...I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of what you'll say," Cinderella confessed. "Of what you'll do."

Charles' face seemed to fall a little. "So you don't trust me."

"No, it's not that, I..." Cinderella stammered. Silence suddenly seemed the worst of all possible alternatives. What was love, after all, without trust? How could she claim to love Charles enough to tie her life to his without trusting him with the truth about her life? One could even argue that she was deceiving him, luring him into marriage by pretence...if he still wished to marry someone who did not trust him. "I love you," she said. "And I do trust you."

"But not enough," Charles replied, with a certain finality in his tone. He began to pull his hands away from her.

Cinderella reached out and grasped at them. "Please," she said. "I'm sorry, you're right, I shouldn't have...I had not right, I...ask me any question, and I will tell you every detail, and every word the truth."

Charles stared at her for a moment, before the slightest smile blossomed on his face. "Tell me everything," he said.

And Cinderella told him...everything. He seemed so comfortable with each revelation she imparted, each bit of information she divulged, that it only made Cinderella more comfortable in divulging more of it until like a well drained dry there was not a drop of knowledge of her left that she had not revealed to him. Her father's death, her stepmother's cruelty and the way in which she had forced Cinderella into servitude in her own house; her friendships with the mice and the birds and the ways that they had tried to help her in her drudgery; she told him of her dreams of escape, and how those dreams had been ignited by the royal invitation to the ball last night; she told him about her first dress, and how her stepsisters had destroyed it; she told him about her fairy godmother, appearing when all hope seemed lost, and about the magic that had brought them together.

She told him everything, just as he had asked that she do, and never once in all her account did Charles seem repulsed from her by what he heard. The cruelty of her stepfamily upset him, her plight engaged his sympathies, but when it came to talking mice and magic it did not seem to faze him at all. He soaked up these things like a sponge, absorbing Cinderella's confidences and encouraging her to invest more in him.

"Extraordinary," he murmured. "Absolutely extraordinary."

"You...you believe me?" Cinderella asked, hardly able to believe herself how well he was taking this sudden deluge of information. "You...you don't think I'm mad."

Charles chuckled. "Mad? No, Cinderella, I don't think you're mad." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "I think you're perfect."

Cinderella smiled with relief. _What have I done to deserve such a man?_ "So what happens now?"

"Now?" Charles replied. "Now we get one of the formalities out of the way?" He got off the settee and down on one knee to the floor. "Cinderella. Darling. Angel." He produced a ring from his pocket, a band of gold crowned with a single, sparkling diamond. "Cinderella, will you marry me and be mine all the days of your life?"

Cinderella could not keep the glee off her face. She felt such joy in her heart it was all she could do to keep from singing. "Yes. Yes, Charles, I will."

Charles slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, closest to her heart. "A perfect fit," he said, before he pulled her down by her hands off the settee. Cinderella gasped as he pulled her onto the floor, a gasp stifled when he kissed her.

Cinderella closed her eyes as they shared the kiss that had been so rudely interrupted by the clock last night. She could feel his tongue brushing against her closed teeth and her gums, like a visitor knocking on a door. The feel of his lips against hers was...well, it was nothing short of wonderful to her, but when they pulled apart she noticed that Charles seemed more amused than anything else.

"What?" Cinderella asked. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Charles said, although clearly he found something entertaining. "I just..."

"Go on," Cinderella said.

"Nothing, really," Charles said. "But I think we're going to have a lot of fun together, you and I."

He stood up, and drew Cinderella to her feet. The rest of the day passed in a kind of whirlwind, a blur of frantic events from which only a few details stood out in Cinderella's mind while all the rest ran together in a mass of faces and places and words descending on her from all directions that she didn't feel that she could possibly be expected to take in. She was used to having people bark orders at her and all of them expecting to be obeyed first and at once, but a dozen people all demanding her attention simultaneously was just a little much to keep track of. As a result the day became more a mass of impressions than a series of memories, with only a few people, places or moments standing out in Cinderella's recollections.

First, Charles led her by the hand through some of the many, many corridors of the palace into a grand throne room, where His Majesty the King himself sat in his state upon a gilded throne, with guards flanking the central traverse, staring at Cinderella with guarded expressions as she was led down the centre of the room to be presented to the king. Thinking about him as Charles' father didn't really help to calm her nerves, and the butterflies were flapping fiercely in Cinderella's stomach as Charles brought her closer and closer to His Majesty. She couldn't really remember what Charles said about her, the words he used to introduce her, but she was aware enough to curtsy respectfully and murmur 'Your Majesty' once he was finished speaking.

The King rose from his throne in silence. He advanced upon her in silence, his expression unreadable - at least to Cinderella. Charles stepped away from her for a moment as the King prowled around her like a lion prowling the plains, casting his eyes to her face and turn turning them down to her feet again.

Charles bent down to whisper something in his father's ear. Cinderella could not hear him, but she had no doubt that he was speaking in defence of her and taking her part. It comforted her to imagine that he was impressing upon his father just how much he loved her.

"Hmm," His Majesty muttered and, for a moment, Cinderella feared that she would feel the sting of his disapproval. Then he brightened, and let out a jolly laugh from his belly. "Splendid! Absolutely splendid! Welcome, my dear, welcome to our family!"

Cinderella sighed in relief, and on instinct one hand - the left hand now crowned by her engagement ring - rose to her heart. "Thank you so much, Your Majesty."

And all the rest, it seemed was wedding preparations. On these matters, it soon became abundantly clear, Cinderella was to be instructed, not consulted. The wedding would be held in the city's grand cathedral, where all the royals of the line had been married since it was built more than four hundred years before - someone had explained to Cinderella the history of the place, but there had been so much else going on at the time that the rough age was all she could remember. She would wear a dress that had been created some time ago and held in readiness against Prince Charles' marriage, and needed only to be tailored to her measurements, so hold up your arms and stand still. The honeymoon would last exactly seven days and they would stay in a Rhineland schloss owned by the royal family. The guest list had already been written, and only needed to remove those few great ones who had died since the list was last revised. The menu of the wedding feast would be as so, the music at the celebratory ball would be as so. Cinderella's views on any of this were neither sought nor required nor, judging by some of the expressions that she received when she dared to offer an opinion, were they wanted. If it were possible to drown in condescension then they might have been putting Cinderella in a grave rather than a bridal gown.

Throughout the blizzard of courtiers coming and going and explaining to her in no uncertain terms how things would be, with no prospect for discussion, Charles was a constant presence. He did not leave her side, not even for a moment. As a result, it must have been easy for him to notice Cinderella's mounting frustration however much she tried to conceal it, because he put one arm around her and said, "Don't be too hard on them, my love. They're only doing what's best for both of us."

"Nobody has asked me what I think about any of this," Cinderella said, with a slight pout. "This is our wedding and we're not being consulted about anything."

"This is a royal wedding," Charles said patiently.

"I know," Cinderella replied. "But it's also ours."

"That doesn't mean that we know best," Charles said. "These people are doing their jobs. This is what they do, it's what they spend whole lifetimes doing. We're both young, you have no experience of court life, of any of this."

Cinderella frowned. "I know."

"I'm not trying to shame," Charles murmured, as he kissed her on the nose. "I'm trying to say that, while you might think that you know what you want, do you honestly believe that you know best."

When he put it like that, Cinderella's feelings came to seem rather arrogant, and her reaction to everyone rather petulant. _I must be making an absolutely terrible impression on everyone. A servant girl with no manners at all._ "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to-"

"There's no need to apologise," Charles assured her. He smiled. "Just try to think before you pout in future."

"I will," Cinderella said. "I promise."

"Then you'll do very well," Charles said, and kissed her again.

It was just getting beyond half-past four when Charles took her away from everyone who was dictating to her the form of their wedding and led her through a maze of different corridors and up at least half a dozen flights of stairs to a lavish suite of apartments the like of which Cinderella had never seen before. Even her younger self, her childish self, the Cinderella who had never known hardship or trial, who had lived a perfect life with her mother and father, would have never imagined having a set of rooms so vast as this to be her own. The bedroom alone was twice as large as the master bedroom at home – at her Stepmother's house, Cinderella reminded herself, this was her home now, here with her prince – and that was without getting into a balcony large enough to hold a half-dozen people comfortably, a dressing room large enough to hold a private party in, or a wardrobe that she could have climbed into if she wished if it had not been full to bursting with what must have been dozens of elaborate and beautiful gowns and dresses. Cinderella did notice that, aside from a stool at the dressing table and a single chair in the bedroom, there was nowhere in this suite to really sit down and relax with friends, but then she supposed that there must be at least twenty rooms in the palace where she could sit down and relax with friends if she wished – if she had any friends – and so the absence here was nothing to get upset about. After all, why would she want to shut herself up in her room at the top of this tower, when she could be down below in the mainstay of the palace, spending time with Charles or doing…whatever it was that princesses did. Cinderella realised abruptly that she had no idea what that was. She supposed that she would find out soon enough. It could not be all dancing.

And besides…even without a sitting room these apartments were quite big and lavish enough.

"Welcome home, Cinderella," Charles said. "All this is yours. Of course, the whole palace will be yours soon enough but this, this is…particularly yours. Your…sanctuary from the world."

Cinderella chuckled. "Do I need such a thing?"

"I aim to make sure you don't," he said. "But if you do…here it is. Now, you should meet the important members of your household." Charles clapped his hands together, and five people seemed to materialise in place from out of nowhere as if they were fairies like Cinderella's godmother, shimmering out of whatever hiding places they had been occupying before to stand in line for Cinderella's purview and inspection.

 _Or perhaps they were here all the time and I was just too dense to notice them._

"First, and foremost, this is Chauvelin," Charles said, gesturing to an elderly lady with iron grey hair standing on the right of the line. Her hawkish face was hard and lined with years, but there was nothing stooped about her back, not about her posture to suggest that age had begun to weary her. She gave off an impression, in fact, similar to that which sometimes clung to Lady Tremaine, that age had strengthened her more than it had weakened. "Chauvelin is your lady's maid, she will attend to all your needs."

Chauvelin curtsied. "An honour to serve, ma'am."

Cinderella smiled. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Chauvelin. I…if you ever think that I'm being too hard on you, I want you to promise me that you'll tell me. I want very much to be a kind mistress." The kind of mistress, in point of fact, that her stepmother had never been to her.

Chauvelin's grey eyes were inscrutable. "I understand, ma'am."

"Chauvelin has been in service to my family for her entire life," Charles said. "She was my mother's lady's maid, once. She has our complete confidence. She holds one of the two keys to your apartments. I have the other."

"And…and me?" Cinderella asked.

Charles looked down at her. "Darling?"

"I don't have a key to my own room?" Cinderella asked.

Chauvelin coughed. "I carry mademoiselle's key for her, ma'am, seeing as how mademoiselle would have no place to put it in a party dress or a ballgown."

"Oh, I see," Cinderella murmured, feeling very foolish to have raised the issue now. She supposed that it was better for someone to carry it with then to leave it lying around for anyone to pick up and take. And Chauvelin was eminently trustworthy after all. She laughed. "But please don't lock me in will you?"

Chauvelin chuckled. "Very droll, ma'am."

Charles moved on. "These are your two bodyguards: Armand Beaumanoir and Pierre Front-de-Boeuf, they are tasked with your protection at all times, but they shouldn't bother you unless you are…well, somewhere you might conceivably be in danger."

Armand was the younger of the two, about Cinderella's own age or thereabouts, tall and a little skinny with long dark hair cascading in curls down to his shoulders. He had a pencil-thin moustache growing slowly on his upper lip, and seemed to be trying to grow a goatee although it was not much in evidence at the moment. He wore a rapier with an elaborate lion-headed hilt at his hip and a cavalier hat with a peacock's feather plume upon his head, it was that hat that he swept off his head as he essayed Cinderella an elaborate bow. "God save Your Highness."

Pierre was older, broad shouldered and looking in muscle at least as though he well deserved the surname 'head of beef'. His face was flat and scarred, his nose was broken, his eyes were beady and small compared to the overall size of his face. His fists were each the size of hams. He said nothing to Cinderella, but bowed his head.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Cinderella murmured.

Charles said. "Now, Cinderella, I have to leave you for a little while now, I have some important matters to attend to. Chauvelin is going to start altering your dresses for you so that you have something to wear for dinner, which is at half-past seven by the way, so don't be late. Now give me a kiss."

Cinderella had to stand up on tiptoes to reach his lips. "Until tonight."

"Until tonight," Charles said, as he left her in her enormous room with her new household.

The rest of the afternoon and the early evening were spent by Cinderella being even more of a clothes horse than she had been previously. Gowns and dresses were whisked out of the wardrobe so fast that she barely had time to take in their loveliness, flung upon her just long enough that Chauvelin could take note of what adjustments needed to be made, and then taken off again before Cinderella could get a feel for them. It was only as seven o'clock approached, and the time came for Cinderella to get ready for her first dinner with her husband to be - just thinking about that made her feel giddy with happiness inside - that Chauvelin stopped flinging dresses upon her and started to prepare Cinderella for the evening.

It was largely a wordless exercise. As Chauvelin helped her to bathe, Cinderella tried to engage the older woman in conversation, but her replies were brief to the point of being terse and it became clear that she had no desire to have any sort of conversation at all. So Cinderella shrank back, feeling chastened by the failure of her attempt at familiarity, and allowed her lady's maid to bathe her, to wash her hair and perfume it with sweet-smelling scents, and get her dressed. Chauvelin did not consult Cinderella on what dress she would like to wear tonight, and after what she had gone through earlier today that fact didn't really surprise Cinderella very much. She was, as Charles had said, very inexperienced to this sort of thing; if her tastes in fashion were completely unsuited to the court then who was she to impose her will over those who knew so much better. And so, when Chauvelin produced a gown, Cinderella allowed herself to be helped into it without demur or protest.

Fortunately it was a lovely dress, absolutely beautiful in fact, although Cinderella couldn't help feel that it was a little bit elaborate for a private dinner. It was, in fact, one of the most elaborate dresses that she had ever seen, let alone worn. The bodice was ivory, tailored to someone just a little thinner than Cinderella herself so that, lithe as she was, it nevertheless required a corset to get her into the gown; there were pearls sewn into the neckline, Cinderella could feel them against her skin. The sleeves were short, pink and ruffled, barely covering Cinderella's shoulders and leaving bare her arms to the world, with little bows of a slightly lighter shade where the sleeves met the bodice proper. The waistline, too, was ruffled, and though the ruffles there were as ivory as the bodice they were nevertheless trimmed with just a touch of pink at the edges. The skirt was white, though the edge of each of its many ruffled layers were trimmed with a tiny, thin line of pink, and cut in a ball gown shape. An ivory peplum that, in absence of the skirt, would still have concealed Cinderella's legs down to the calves and at present concealed a great deal of the skirt and many of the ruffles, descended over the skirt in a shape like a quartet of crescents, each resting on their round side with the points facing upwards, and at each of the eight corners of these crescents were stitched a bouquet of six red roses resting on a bed of green leaves. Cinderella's hands were concealed from view by a pair of white gloves that passed an inch or two over her wrists before they stopped; the gold of her engagement ring seemed to gleam more brightly against the white than it had done upon her bare uncovered finger. Her hair, the one area where Chauvelin had surprised Cinderella with a question, was worn loose down to her shoulders, restrained by a white hairband with a bow on top.

And the jewellery; Cinderella had not expected anything more than her engagement ring but Chauvelin had surprised her - astonished her - when she started draping pearls around Cinderella: a choker of large pearls, four pearls high, embraced her throat; a single-strand pearl bracelet hung loosely from Cinderella's right arm, while a similar but tighter bracelet was clasped more firmly on her other arm just above her glove; around her left wrist, so that it unlike the pearls would show more clearly against the white glove, was clasped a bracelet of sapphires. Teardrop-shaped pearls dangled from Cinderella's ears, suspended from the rounder pearls that clasped like limpets to her lobes.

Her slippers were with, but trimmed with pink and tiny seed pearls, with pink ribbons upon the toes; very pretty, but for the most part quite invisible under the dress and its two layers of fine lace petticoats.

"Oh, Chauvelin," Cinderella gasped, as she gazed in astonishment at her reflection in the mirror. She retreated a couple of paces as she twirled, making her skirt rustle as spun around her. "Oh, it's beautiful, but...but it must be...I mean don't you think it's a little much. I mean, this is a dress for dancing in, how am I supposed to sit in it?"

"I'm sure you'll manage somehow, ma'am," Chauvelin replied, without an overabundance of sympathy. Considering that only one of them was wearing a beautiful dress and pearls and sapphires and it wasn't Chauvelin, Cinderella found that she could understand why that was. "I'm sure, ma'am, that you will want to make the best possible impression upon His Highness when you arrive for dinner, and not risk a...more negative impression such as might be conveyed by a more casual appearance."

Cinderella frowned. "Charles asked me to marry him while I was still dressed like a maid."

Chauvelin's expression did not change. "Perhaps, ma'am, but he fell in love with the belle of the ball. Do you really want to disappoint him so soon."

No. No, she very much did not. Cinderella was well aware of her how fortunate she was, how utterly undeserving of the ludicrous good fortune that had all of a sudden descended upon her. She neither the desire nor the inclination to put that at risk. And besides...it was a lovely dress.

"You're right," she murmured. "And thank you, Chauvelin, it's a beautiful dress."

"Ma'am," Chauvelin murmured.

Cinderella glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just gone ten minutes past. "Should I go to dinner now, or will I be too early, do you think?"

"I think if you leave now, ma'am, you'll be just in time."

"Very well," Cinderella said softly. "I wish Eugene were here to escort me."

"His Highness has many pressing tasks and duties, ma'am, he cannot always set them aside to attend to your needs," Chauvelin said, quietly but firmly.

 _In other words don't be such a spoiled brat,_ Cinderella said. "I know," she said apologetically. "It's just...I'm not really sure of the way."

"The dining room is not difficult to find, ma'am, and anyone will be glad to give you directions if you need them," Chauvelin said, though she did not offer any such directions herself. "I'm sure you'll find it quite easily."

"I'm sure," Cinderella replied, as she gathered up her ruffled skirt in folds in her gloved hands. The fabric resisted her at first, wishing to cling to its proper shape, but she had move it or she was certain to trip and fall at some point going down all those stairs. "Thank you so much, Chauvelin. Good night."

"I shall be here when you return, ma'am, to help you get ready for bed."

"Oh, of course," Cinderella said. She smiled. "Good evening, then."

"Good evening, ma'am."

Cinderella turned away, holding up her skirt with both hands to give her feet a little more freedom, and walked slowly out of the room. Once she reached the stairs, she let go of her skirt with one hand and placed it gently upon the walnut banister as she descended gracefully from her tower. It really was a beautiful dress. She had dreamed of wearing such beautiful dresses, of descending staircases in such wonderful gowns like this. In her dreams, all conversation hushed, and all eyes turned towards her, and when she reached the bottom of the stairs she extended one delicate hand to the man she loved, who stared at her in rapturous enchantment.

However, when she reached the bottom of the stairs the only thing she found waiting for her was darkness. Not utter darkness, for there were a few windows in this part of the palace and the sun had not yet set completely, but a very gloomy dusklight all the same. Chauvelin had lit candles in Cinderella's room, and the long and winding staircase too had been so illuminated, but down below...nothing. Only the murk of twilight dampening all colour and shrouding all things in shadow.

The absence of any people to be seen matched the absence of light; anyone would be glad to give Cinderella directions, Chauvelin had said, but that depended on there being someone for Cinderella to ask. At the moment there was no one.

But that could not be the case for very long, surely. This was a royal palace, the seat of a king; it could not be empty; it was not empty, Cinderella had seen plenty of servants during the day. Perhaps Charles and his father were both so kind that they did not work their staff at night, but how could so grand a palace as this survive without servants in the evening? Who was preparing dinner? Cinderella had a brief vision of herself in the kitchen in this beautiful but somewhat impractical ball gown trying to make dinner for herself, Charles and the king. Her laughter served to overcome her confusion about the absence of life in the corridor. She was getting worked up over nothing. There was no one in this corridor - besides herself, of course - but that didn't mean that there was no one to be found. Cinderella began to walk down the corridor, certain that once she turned this corner, or the next, she would find a host of palace staff beavering away at their respective duties.

Except...that she didn't. Not in the next corridor, or the one after, or the one after that. Wherever Cinderella turned, wherever her feet in their silk slippers took her, she found no one and nothing but the ever encroaching darkness. In some corridors, were there were no windows, there was no light at all and Cinderella fumbled her way along trying to stay in the middle of the corridor. Even where there were windows the sun was setting rapidly, and the gloom became murkier and murkier with every passing moment.

 _I've clearly taken a wrong turn, somewhere. And probably another one after that,_ Cinderella thought. If she was on the right path then she would have met someone by now. If she was on the right path then she would have some light to see by. But what good was that to her? She wasn't on the right path, and she still needed some light and she needed some kind soul to show her the way. At this rate she would be late for dinner - if she wasn't already, Cinderella had lost track of time - and what kind of impression would that make on Charles? What would His Majesty say about being kept waiting?

"Hello?" Cinderella called out to the gathering darkness, in the hope that someone she could not see would nevertheless be close enough to hear her. It would be strange if she could not hear them in turn, but she was getting a little anxious to reach her destination by this point and was prepared to risk it. "Hello? Can anyone hear me? If there's anybody there, please could you help me?"

There was no answer from the dark, just the vanishing echo of her own voice, rattling in the silence. There would be no help forthcoming here.

 _I'll go back,_ Cinderella decided. _I'll retrace my steps to where I started from and then try a different route, since this one was so obviously wrong._

That turned out to be easier said than done. Cinderella must have taken even more wrong turns in her attempt to go back than she had going forward, because at least one of the doors through which she thought she had come on her way down this rabbit hole turned out to be locked when she 'returned' to it. Cinderella rattled the handle and pushed against the door to no avail. Which meant that she must have gone wrong again, because who could or would have come into a dark corridor in a place where no one had been before just to lock a door.

Nevertheless, she called out again. "Hello, can somebody hear me? Can you open this door, please, and help me? I'm afraid I'm lost." There was no reply, which must mean that this door had always been locked, because otherwise...it was a different door, and she had gone wrong again. Her sense of direction was turning out to be terrible in this place.

Cinderella wasn't sure how long she had been wandering up and down these corridors. Her feet weren't tired, but then they were used to her spending all day on them; but by now the last of the sunlight had faded and dusk had given way to night. There was no light anywhere she went. She was without a doubt late for dinner now, although how late she could not tell. In the unremitting gloom, busts on their plinths and suits of armour lining the walls became less objects than they did vague shapes in the darkness, almost threatening masses to be avoided if at all possible. The silence, broken only by Cinderella's plaintive and futile cries for help, pressed down upon her like a great mass of cloud smothering the world below.

Cinderella had never liked the dark. Each new dawn brought hope, but night brought only close and cloying fears, some real and some irrational. Her father had used to tell her that there no monsters, and nothing to be scared of...but his own wife had proved him wrong, in the end.

Now...now it was not only the certain knowledge that she had embarassed herself in front of Charles, made a fool of herself in front of the king and the whole palace with her inability to do something as find her way to the dining room that was worrying Cinderella...it was just being here, alone in the dark, with only the silence for company. She didn't like it. She didn't like the chill in the air, she didn't like the way that the suits of armour looked in the gloom, she didn't like any of this. She wanted to find Charles, she wanted to be with him somewhere bright and warm and safe.

But she had no idea how to reach that wonderful place, and more more doors seemed to be locked in Cinderella's path denying her progress. It was almost as if she was being herded somehow, forced to go a specific way.

See how the darkness bred irrational fear in her?

And then...Cinderella heard something.

It was a click, followed by a long, slow creaking sound like the opening of a door that had remained shut for far too long and was in dire need of some oil on it's hinges.

Cinderella sighed with relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I'm completely lost, can you please help me find my way to the dining room?"

There was no sound after the creaking faded.

Cinderella fiddled with the pearl chocker tight around her throat with one hand. "Hello? Is someone there?" She peered into the darkness, turning this way and that, but saw nothing. Nothing but darkness all around her.

"If there's someone there, please say something," Cinderella cried. "I know this might seem funny but, please...I'm so very late, I need someone to help me."

There was no sound...until Cinderella heard a knock, a single knock like someone asking to be let in.

"Hello?" she called. There was another knock. "Who's there." A third. "I...I'm sorry, I don't understand."

There were no words, no response. Just knocking. Knocking. Hard, insistent and persistent knocking, drawing closer and closer towards her in the dark.

And Cinderella ran. She turned away from the encroaching knocking sound and fled, heedless of where she was fleeing too, just desperate to get away from that ominous sound that was closing towards her. She turned left and then she turned right. She came to a locked door and pulled upon it, crying out for admission, before fleeing a different way as the knocking came closer. She gasped for breath doubly constrained by corset and choker, and she ran.

Cinderella gasped in alarm as she tripped over her own petticoats and went flying forward, throwing out her hands to arrest her fall. She landed on the floor with a wincing cry of pain, falling like a supplicant…at the feet of…

Too late, Cinderella tried to scramble to her feet. A pair of strong hands seized her by the arms, making her wince as she was dragged bodily to her feet. She couldn't see who held her fast, he was just a dark mass in the murkiness, but as he leaned towards her…Cinderella cried out as she saw that his face was hidden, concealed behind a monstrous metal mask.

Cinderella would have screamed, but she had not the breath left in her.

"Get out of here!" the figure yelled, his voice echoing from out of the metal mask. "Get out of this place! Get out now! GET OUT!"

* * *

 _Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing a kind of gothic romance, so hopefully you all enjoy it. If you do like Cinderella fics, please also check out my other story The Rose and the Crown, which is more of a straight up romance/drama with a bit of a political thriller._


	2. The Phantom of the Palace

The Phantom of the Palace

"Cinderella? Cinderella, can you hear me?"

The voice was a gentle summons, requesting her presence but not demanding it, solicitous in tone, concerned in volume. It made her want to answer, calling her back from out of the darkness into which she had fallen. Cinderella opened her eyes and was surprised by the amount of light that assailed them. She remembered darkness but now there was so much light and-

Cinderella gasped. The man, the man in the mask from out of the darkness, where was-

" Cinderella?" Charles blocked out some of the excessive light with his body. "Cinderella, what's wrong?"

"Charles," Cinderella murmured with an audible sky of relief, some of her fears subsiding with the mere presence of her Prince, who would protect her without doubt. "Oh, thank goodness, I...where am I? What happened?"

Cinderella looked around; she was in a sitting room of some sort, where the carpet was salmon pink and the curtains were crimson. She was lying on a red velvet settee, and sat up to get a get a better view of her surroundings. Cinderella moved her legs off the settee, and as the toes of her slippers touched the floor Charles, who had been standing over her, sat down beside her.

"What happened?" Charles repeated, as he reached out to take hold of one of her gloved hands. "Cinderella, I was just about to ask you the same thing. You were late for dinner, so I came looking for you and I found you unconscious in one of the back corridors, as though you had fainted. What happened to you, and how did you end up there?"

"I...I got lost," Cinderella confessed sheepishly. "And I couldn't find anyone to up me find my way and I kept running into locked doors and-"

"My God," Charles whispered. "I am...I own myself an ass, Cinderella; somehow it never occurred to me that you wouldn't know where to go but how could you when you've only just arrived. And some parts of the palace are dangerous, you could have...please forgive my abject stupidity, I swear it will not happen again."

Cinderella smiled, to put him at his ease and lessen the anguish that he seemed to feel over her recent plight. "It's alright. You've found me now, and I'm sure it was just bad luck that I couldn't find anybody to show me where to go. Although..."

"Although?" Charles said. "What else?"

"There was...there was a man," Cinderella said. "He...I don't know where he came from but he grabbed me and shouted at me and...I don't remember anything else. I must have fainted I suppose but...but who was he?"

Charles's expression was grave. "Cinderella, this palace is a very old place, and like many old places it has many secrets. Some of them are dark secrets, very dark indeed, and some of them should never be spoken of aloud. What you saw, the phantom of the palace, is one of those." He smiled. "But don't worry yourself unduly; he will not harm so long as you stay away from the dark and forbidden sections of the palace. In the light, you will be safe."

"But how do I-"

"Tomorrow I will give you two attendants, to be your guides and companions," Charles said. "They will make sure that you don't go wandering off again."

Cinderella nodded. "I'm sure that's for the best," she said. She wasn't keen on encountering the masked figure again. "And...and it will be nice to have people I can talk to. I...I haven't had very many friends."

"Perfect, two birds with one stone," Charles declared delightedly. He got to his feet, still holding Cinderella by the hand. "And now, my love, shall we go to dinner?"

"Dinner? But, am I not too late?" Cinderella asked.

Charles expression mingled fondness with amusement. "You are my bride to be, if you miss dinner then a new dinner will be prepared for you. And besides, I haven't eaten either."

"Are you sure? I don't want to put anyone to any trouble on-"

"No trouble at all, I guarantee it."

Cinderella lifted up the hem of her skirt with her free hand as she got to her feet. "Then please, lead the way."

"This time, I shall," Charles said, with a smile that set Cinderella's heart fluttering.

And so, holding tightly on to her hand, Charles led her into the spacious, empty dining room.

"You look truly beautiful, by the way," Charles said as he pulled out a chair for her. "Absolutely stunning."

"Thank you," Cinderella replied as she sat down. "So long as you like it, that means everything to me."

Charles talked to her while dinner was prepared, and while they ate. Cinderella had little to contribute to the conversation, which ranged widely across subjects such as art, history, politics. In truth she followed very little of what he said, but feared to say so in case he found out that she was stupid; there were times when she thought - she feared - that he had realised the depths of her ignorance and senseless, but then he always smiled, and paid her some sweet comment to put her at ease. And then, when dinner - a wonderful meal consisting of leak, tomato and onion soup, braised shoulder of lamb and a caramel pudding - was finished, Charles took her by the hand again and led her back the correct way to her bed chamber.

"I notice you ate very heartily just now," he said, as they approached the threshold.

Cinderella chuckled. "I was a little hungry," she admitted. "And the food was so delicious."

Charles laughed too. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, but you might want to watch your portions in future; you wouldn't want to ruin your lovely figure, now would you?"

Cinderella hesitated, uncertain of what to say, he...how could he say something like to her, it was...it was rude.

But also honest at the same time. Her beauty was Cinderella's sole great claim upon his heart, if she lost that...she should probably thank him for pointing that out to her.

She couldn't quite bring herself to do that, but she did say, "Yes, I mean no I...I'll be more careful in future."

"I'm sure you will," Charles said, and he brought her to her room and kissed her goodnight before delivering her into the waiting arms of Chauvelin.

Chauvelin asked Cinderella no questions, and when Cinderella tried to talk to her about the night she had had she received so little in the way of answer from her lady's make that she soon gave up, and sank into silence as Chauvelin got her undressed, cleaned the make-up off her face and brushed her hair before helping her into her night-gown.

"Um, Chauvelin," Cinderella murmured, as she held up the white silk night-gown. "Are you sure this is what I'm meant to wear?"

"Quite sure, ma'am," sniffed Chauvelin. "Is anything amiss?"

Cinderella frowned. It...it wasn't...it was very pretty, but it showed a lot more of her than she expected from her bed clothes: her curves, her arms, her legs, her breasts. Form-fitting, with a plunging neckline and sleeves that were nearly non-existent, it didn't look very warm either.

"Could I not just wear my old night-gown?"

"That has been disposed of ma'am, it was quite unsuitable."

"Oh," Cinderella said. She looked down. "I see. Well, I suppose this will do just fine." It wasn't as if she had much choice.

Chauvelin helped Cinderella to put it on, not that Cinderella really needed the assistance to do that, and then waited as Cinderella climbed into the luxurious bed.

So soft! The mattress felt as though it was about to swallow her up like quicksand.

"Goodnight, Chauvelin," Cinderella said. "Thank you for all your help."

"Ma'am," Chauvelin replied, in a curt fashion and with very little warmth, as she blew out the candle and walked out the door. It creaked a little as she closed it, and as the door closed all light in Cinderella's room vanished and she was plunged into complete darkness.

Cinderella tolled onto her side and closed her eyes as she rested her head upon her exceedingly fluffy pillow. She thought of Charles, in his own room; had he gone to bed, or was he working on some business of state? Cinderella imagined that, at the very moment that she was thinking about him, he was thinking of her too, and the imagining brought a smile to her face. She was the luckiest girl in the world, without a doubt.

With a mind filled with such thoughts Cinderella sank into repose, and her slumbering thoughts returned to the previous night and to the wonderful dance that they had shared together.

* * *

"Cinderella?"

"Charles," Cinderella murmured contentedly, as she was roused once again from sleep by his voice but...but it was not so. Not the same. She was not, as she had been before, being called out of darkness into the light but rather out of pleasant dreams and into the darkness that consumed her bedroom.

She could see nothing. All was black; she couldn't see a thing or even make out a shadow or a silhouette.

"Charles?" Cinderella repeated, more loudly and more urgently now. "Charles, where are you? I can't see you, I can't see anything in this darkness."

"You were very beautiful, tonight," he said. "You…you have always been beautiful but tonight…you were even more lovely than when we met."

Cinderella giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. "Well, that's very sweet of you to say so, Charles, but surely you don't need to hide from me in the dark just to give me a compliment? Why don't you light a candle so we can talk?"

"I prefer the darkness; there are things I am forced to conceal."

"I don't understand," Cinderella replied. "What are you talking about, Charles?"

"Charles is not here, for which you should be grateful," Charles called to her from out of the dark. "He does not address you now."

Cinderella frowned. "Is...is this a game? I…I don't understand it if it is. Can you please just light a candle or something?"

"Listen more carefully!" he hissed. "Have you never heard this voice before?"

Cinderella laughed. "What are you talking about, of course I have! You..." She stopped, as memory surged to the forefront of her mind and made her blood chill. No, not Charles. It sounded like him but...but harsher all the same, less smooth and charming, less assured...and she had heard it before.

Cinderella clutched her quilt for all the good it would do her. "You! In the dark...you attacked me."

He sighed. "I am sorry if I frightened you. It wasn't my intent."

"If you didn't mean to frighten me then why did you spring at me from out of the darkness?" Cinderella demanded. "Why did you chase me through the corridors? Why are you here now except to frighten me?" It occurred to her that he might have come to do much worse than frighten her, and she prayed that he meant to do no more than give her a scare.

"For the same reason I am speaking to you now. To warn you."

Cinderella looked around futilely for some sign of him. "Where are you? I thought...Charles said you couldn't come in here."

"And he was right, I am not in your bed chamber, that is simply where you can hear me," said the Phantom. "You should never have come here. You must not stay."

"I've got nowhere else to go," Cinderella said.

"Anywhere would be better than here."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew," Cinderella replied. She poured, even though the Phantom probably couldn't see her. "And anyway, why should I leave? I don't want to go anywhere. I'm going to marry Charles and be his princess and-"

"You must not marry him!" exclaimed the Phantom. "He is not what he appears to be, nor is this place, nor are any of them! You must get out if here while you still can."

"Why?" Cinderella demanded. "Why should I do anything you say? I don't even know who you are. I love Charles, and he loves me too. Why should I believe you over my own heart?"

The Phantom was silent for a moment. "I suppose you have little enough cause to trust me. Has he told you that I am dangerous?"

"Yes," Cinderella murmured.

"And yet I did not harm you when you were at my mercy," the Phantom pointed out. "Ask dear Charles about the under chamber, or the west wing, or the fifth floor of the North tower. He will refuse you access to all of them."

"Some parts of the palace are dangerous," Cinderella said.

"Or forbidden," the Phantom replied from out of the dark. "When he refuses you will see that know whereof I speak. Go to any of those places yourself and you will see more than you wished to see. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Cinderella said in a voice that was soft but ultimately unyielding. "But there can be no love without trust, and I love Charles. I'm not going to test him because you ask me too."

"If you do not, if you do nothing, then I cannot protect you."

"I don't need you or anyone else to protect me from the man I love and want to marry," Cinderella said bluntly.

"Yes, you do," replied the Phantom. "Yes you do, as you will learn to your sorrow."

"All my sorrows have been chased away," Cinderella replied. "You don't know, you can't know, what my life has been like. Charles rescued me when I had almost no hope left. I love him for that, I've loved him from the moment that we met and I know that he loves me too. You can surprise me in the corridors, you can get into my room or speak to me here or however you're doing it, but you can't tell me how to feel and you can't tell me not to love him.

"I'll be his wife, and we'll be happy together."

There was no response. The room was silent. The only sound was the howling of the wind outside Cinderella's room.

"Hello?" Cinderella called. "Are you still there?"

Silence still, and unbroken by any kind of sound by Cinderella's own voice. She waited, and waited for a response that did not come.

But she did not fall asleep. She did not dare to fall asleep in case he came again. She stayed awake, hugging her blanket tight around her like a child, her blue eyes wide and a little desperate until the morning came, and with the dawn salvation.

* * *

 _Author's Note: So this has been a long time, hasn't it._

 _Slightly embarassingly, the bulk of this chapter (as in, all but a hundred words or so) was actually written in October last year. I'd forgotten about it and was about to start writing from scratch when I found the file._

 _I think the reason I didn't upload was because I wasn't sure what came next, but I actually think it works as a standalone chapter, brief though it is; the reason I left this for so long was that I was having trouble settling on the plot, but I think I'm much more sure of that now so hopefully the updates will come a little faster in future._


End file.
